


as i lose the feeling in my fingertips

by escargotforit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Biting, Bondage, Breast Torture, Established Relationship, I Don't Know How To Tag For Grinding On A Shoe, Lingerie, M/M, Nipple Torture, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, SSC-Compliant, Temperature Play, Trans Martin Blackwood, Trans Peter Lukas, Vaginal Penetration, You Know Peter Pays For This Flat, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 21:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escargotforit/pseuds/escargotforit
Summary: Peter has a request, Martin fulfills it. The terrible thing about Martin, however, is that he is a very giving lover.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	as i lose the feeling in my fingertips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fatal_drum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/gifts), [cuttooth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/gifts).



> T4T PeterMartin more like yes. T4T PeterMartin where Martin holds all the cards and Peter is putty in his hands, more like Hell Yes.
> 
> Based on a certain request or two, read over by the lovely Em before posting.
> 
> Terms for both Martin and Peter used: chest, breasts, tits, cock, cunt, folds, slick, wet. Snapping is used when Peter is non-verbal, and all actions are implied to be consensual, with discussion done off-screen.
> 
> Title taken from "Shiver, Shiver" by WALK THE MOON.

The heels on Martin’s feet are new. Black as night and shining like oil, he clicks their red soles across the hardwood of the master bedroom, enjoying the way they make Peter’s lips tremble around the silk gag clenched between his teeth -- or maybe the minute vibrations ripple through the toy he kneels over at the foot of the bed, a small puddle of slick and lubricant pooled at its suction cup base. He’s beautiful like this, round in the belly, soft in the thighs, plump and wet between them as he kneels with his legs spread wide. His head is tipped down, brushing his salt and pepper beard practically against the smattering of grey on his chest, until he hears the clicking stop.

He’s all attention when Martin kneels before him, caresses the man’s cheek from blindfold to gag with a small laugh. There’s a small twitch in his neck that betrays his need to nuzzle into that hand.

“You’ve been very patient for me,” Martin murmurs, almost a compliment. In reality, Peter hasn’t been waiting long at all, Martin having left only to deal with a short errand, but he knows praise tends to be more effective than admonishment.

And he’s right. It elicits a muffled groan, a small roll of the hips, and Martin’s touch turns possessive as he runs that hand from mouth to jaw, down the plane of a pale collarbone. Based on look alone, Peter’s chest is hardly more than the muscled pig iron of his pectorals, but Martin can feel the soft swell when he applies light pressure, flicks his thumb over the large, rose-pink nipples. Peter makes another noise, this time a little more insistent, and Martin stops touching him entirely.

“None of that, now,” Martin chastises, his other hand cradling a small bowl with a neatly wrapped bundle within. He sets it down beside himself, undoing the knot at the top, revealing a bowl of ice still crackling from the freezer. The movement makes Peter perk up, his head turning minutely to hear the sound, and Martin smiles. “Can you guess what this is?”

“Mm,” says Peter, his cheeks flushing with the lightest of strawberry hues, and Martin beams. Peter is much easier to deal with when he can’t speak.

“That’s right,” he confirms. He pulls a conveniently curved cube out of the bowl, careful not to let it drip onto his clothes. Martin usually dresses comfortably for play, but today is special, he is a feast for the eyes in various shades of moody blue and silk. He traces the tip of it over the same line his hand followed: cheekbone, jaw, neck, collarbone. Feels Peter shiver underneath it. But this time, he doesn’t stop, pushing it over the curve of one breast.

Peter jerks into the first touch of it on his sensitive areolae, cries out around the gag, something that sounds suspiciously like  _ Martin _ . Martin tuts.

“Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.” Correction: _Martin_ will hurt him. “You already had a time of it sitting on the toy.” 

He doesn’t let up, knowing that Peter knows better than to squirm overmuch, and hears the hiss of breath as Peter forces himself to calm down. Martin traces around Peter’s breast, spiralling in to the very tip of his nipple, and continues despite his hastily bitten-off moans, his cries and grunts at the way the ice must be affecting even his naturally chilly body temperature. The air in Martin’s flat is warmer than most places Peter spends time in, and the exquisite pleasure-pain of pins and needles as Peter’s body attempts to establish equilibrium has more slick dripping down the sides of the toy buried deep in his cunt.

“You should really be thanking me, anyway,” says Martin. “I almost thought not to use the ice, but I figured you might need all the help you could get with what’ll come next. It numbs you, a bit, so you can hold out.” And he hears Peter stifle a scream as Martin uses his palm to hold the last dreg of the ice cube directly against the first nipple, letting it melt there.

Peter is still an avatar, however, and not only that, an avatar of one of the more desolate and chilly domains, so it takes quite a bit of ice until his nipples are to the perfect level of taut. Martin badly wishes he could stop here, put his mouth on them to warm them up and have Peter melt on his tongue, but he settles for breathing over them both and seeing Peter shudder at the sudden heat. He then sets aside the ice on the nightstand, to be handled at another time, and reaches up to undo Peter’s blindfold.

He blinks, adjusting himself to the light of the room before exposing his cool blue eyes, his pupils dilated with desire as he looks Martin from the collar of his revealing robe to the way it drapes teasingly over freckled thighs, almost obscuring the lace panties Martin has chosen to wear underneath. He’s more well-endowed than Peter, at least in the chest, and he notices the way the older man’s eyes linger on the curve of his own breasts as they disappear under the plunging neckline, dusted with their own healthy amount of dark hair.

“Focus back on my face,” reminds Martin, and Peter’s eyes snap to his. Martin smiles, deceptively sweet. “It’s not my chest you should be worried about, Peter. If you look anywhere but my face again, I’ll have to hurt you even more than I already will, do you understand?”

Peter nods, and Martin nods back to him. “How are you feeling? Snap for me.”

Without hesitation, he snaps once, their sign for  _ green  _ or  _ fine  _ or  _ please, God, keep going _ . Martin doesn’t need to ask again before he goes in to pinch both nipples at once, pulling a yelp from Peter and another roll of his hips, and another shout as Martin pinches and  _ twists _ , pulling both tits at once.

“That’s what I thought.” 

Peter’s eyes lid, taking in the adrenaline from the pain as Martin lets go, then jerks forward again as Martin goes in for another pinch, pulling and tugging until both of them look sore and swollen. What was originally a rosy pink is now a dusky, velvety ruddiness in both nipples, and Peter shivers as he seemingly keeps back one of the many orgasms Martin has ordered him not to let himself have, stilling on the toy and sometimes rearing up to pull it out of him as much as possible. His cock stands stiff and proud at the swollen juncture of his folds, aching to be touched, but Martin isn’t done. Not by a long shot.

The silk gag is drenched in drool already, but Martin only adjusts it before going in to give both of Peter’s breasts a squeeze, starting at the base and pulling all the way out to the nipple, which makes him sound like a balloon rapidly losing air. Martin laughs at it, watching Peter’s cheeks darken once more at the humiliation, and decides to switch up his approach.

“Look at you, look at both of these. Now neither of us can deny what a slut you are,” he whispers, giving them both another squeeze. “You’re just letting me do whatever I please to them, and enjoying every second of it.”

Peter rolls forward on the toy again, closing his eyes, and Martin gives his chest an open-palmed slap. He flutters them open again, and Martin sighs lightly. “I did warn you. Keep your eyes on me, or there will be more where that came from.”

Peter nods, his eyes focused on Martin when he leans in to take one of those poor nipples into his mouth, and finds it warm and hard on his tongue. He gives it a gentle suck, laving his tongue over the painful flesh before giving Peter a hard bit of suction -- then another, and another, in short little pulses, and Peter whimpers through it as Martin’s hand comes up to pull and twist the other. By the time he’s brushing his teeth over them, Peter’s eyes have welled up with tears, and Martin laughs as he weighs Peter’s chest in both hands.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You wanted this, yeah? You wanted me to tease and torture you right here, make sure you couldn’t put a shirt on for a week without remembering being good for me, your nipples all hard even through the knit of your jumper.” He gives them another pull for good measure, watching a tear slide down Peter’s cheek. “You wanted me to tell you how soft they are, how heavy they feel in my hands. How fun they are to bite and suckle and slap about.”

Martin lets one go, smacking it firmly to make his point, and then again, and again. Like this, slowly getting redder, hotter, more sensitive under Martin’s touch, Peter’s chest is a far cry from the pale, cool swells they were prior to play, and by the time Martin is done with them, they look more filthy than ever. It sends a bolt of happiness through him, of pride. But mostly he’s dripping, probably thoroughly ruined his pants, and Martin knows he won’t last much longer himself.

“Now look, you have a pair of tits worthy of a whore,” Martin says, softly, and Peter finally, finally dips his eyes down to look at himself, holds himself back from yet another orgasm, rearing up to keep himself from coming with sheer willpower alone. Martin stops to give him a few more bites when it’s clear he’s calmed down, chest still heaving from the force of it.

“I’ll give you a chance to come, if you earn it.” Martin rises, a little wobblier on the heels now that he’s flushed and heady with arousal, but manages to wiggle off his panties without falling over. Peter looks up at him, the extra height putting his head at a perfect place to suck Martin clean, and Martin reaches down to undo the knot keeping the gag in place against Peter’s tongue. He doesn’t need to command Peter to tongue the swollen folds he presses against his face, using the bed to keep him upright and Peter’s mouth against him, and orgasm comes much too quickly, hard and ripping through him at the thought of Peter being patient, of his chest burning from Martin’s ministrations even as he eagerly laps and sucks at Martin’s hard cock.

Martin rides it out by grinding against Peter’s face, mixing his drool with his tears with Martin’s slick, and by the time he pulls away he can see that Peter has been made a thorough mess of. His beard is soaked through with saliva and Martin, trailing strings all the way to Martin’s thighs before they break, and his eyes lidded and dazed as his tongue lolls out, as if Martin will only continue to ride his face for the rest of time.

It’s a tempting thought, Martin can’t deny that, but he thinks Peter has shown him enough patience to reward him. Stepping back, and once again using the bed as a bolstering device, he tries to keep his balance on shaky legs and nods to Peter.

“All right, sit down and take it all in,” he commands, and Peter does, without question. His eyelashes flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes on Martin, but it’s not long before Martin rubs the toe of the heel directly into Peter’s exposed cock, getting slick all over the shiny leather. “Grind against that for me." 

It takes a moment more of Peter, rubbing desperately against his toe, before Martin makes a contemplative noise and nods at him. "All right. Good boy. You can come now.”

It doesn’t take long for Peter, either, sobbing as he works his hips into Martin’s shoe and into the toy, taking it so deep it must be halfway up his spine by now, and he comes for several gasping moments as the sensations ripple through his body. Martin sees him chain them -- two, three in a row, it seems -- and when he’s finally done he seems to need the bed as a backbone himself, sagging back against it with a groan. 

Finally, he snaps three times, ending the scene, and Martin can reach for the bottle of water next to the ice, tipping it gently into Peter’s mouth until he can swallow and speak without much issue. Martin reaches behind him to undo the restraints, just handcuffs with a soft lining, and eases the toy out of Peter before sitting him down, the lines of the floor imprinted in his knees and much of his lower leg.

“God, Martin.” He rubs the marks, still sounding slightly slurred as Martin takes off the heels, setting them aside to be cleaned later. “I still feel like I’m on fire.”

“That’ll be the blood rising to your chest,” Martin replies, but gently. He pads off to pull the nightstand’s drawers open, tending to Peter’s breasts with creams and ointments and the remainder of the ice. “Let’s just hope you’re not opposed to wearing plasters on your nipples for awhile, and roomier jumpers than normal.”

“If I can even walk,” Peter quips, and hisses as the medicine sinks in, but puts a large hand on Martin’s, his eyes averted. His cheeks regain a momentary flush. “...I know it was a strange request to make of you. So.”

Martin looks at him, turning his hand over to squeeze Peter’s, and beams once more. This is his favorite part, aside from the orgasms and seeing Peter let go and all the rest. He might even be lucky enough to have Peter cuddle up on him after, lips still taut and eyes still averted, but letting Martin put his arms around him and falling asleep that way.

He watches Peter’s cheeks become a shade ruddier, and keeps his voice warm as he begins to clean up. “You’re welcome, Peter. Let’s get you into bed before you say anything you might regret.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me at @escargotforit on twitter ;)


End file.
